The ashes of the last sunset

The most profound of all times is upon me… as I feel that what I have been sent to do in this world will be dealt with in this time. This time the power which was so invisible to me shall be held forth to me. This is the time of reckoning and chance..

Sometimes life will demonstrate its most profound effects on you, and you shall be forced to learn. In silence, awe and the most beautiful of all sadness which there can be conceived. Of loss and pain, of misery and fleeting joy. Of life and also of the most reverential death.

Grand will be this play which will be on you. You who are free as the night breeze.. will be made to swallow the whole.

You who will see the greatest of all plays.. the play of the mind.

And those who shall come out alive will be thankful and joyful, to have witnessed you own life’s, the last sunset. And you shall collect your own remains at the end of this time. This most crucifying of all ages… yes, you will collect your own remains. Your own ashes at the last sunset.

Chapters of No consequence ~

There have been times in my life when life holds a key to pass onto. This is when it will remind you that you must see its own worthlessness. Not so in words but in consequence. When you will conquer this teaching you will become the master of no chance and of no consequence

The similarities between the never ending chasm of births and deaths and to immortality is that both lie in a strange chance and the following consequence.

Either you will be born as a mad man ravaged by the earth and its fellow human beings, or you shall be born as a saint, ravaged and disturbed by none. These both are due to a chance and its consequence

In an autumn night I saw the black moon rise,

Rise above me and this sky. In awesome loneliness and in amazing piety

For the words that I speak in this world remember

There are no two swords. Only one.

There are no masters, then only slaves

This understanding which brings me to sobriety

On this beautiful autumn night sky.

Perhaps I have misjudged the mere profound work being written here. This is not an hour or a days escapade.

This is a life time of dedication of simple work. Work rooted in knowledge of the fore coming of ones own demise. This is not poetic language. This is mere simple practicality which brings me to this conclusion. I kid you not. And what brought me to this juncture is but chance and its consequence.

Peace is a concept so dead in you and I. The stench of its decay smells euphoric to us. The dual is so alive in you and I. That we could never become one.

Why?

Seek your answers in the ashes of this last sunset of our planet, of our minds, of our hearts so long drowned.